The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn
by Mimi Bella
Summary: *NEWLY* UPDATED!! CHAPTER EIGHT NOW UP! Satine wasn't the only one who fell in love with Christian! NOW UPDATED!!! PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! THANKS!
1. Chapter One

THE GREATEST THING YOU'LL EVER LEARN  
  
Disclaimer: No characters, except Roxane and others I have created, are mine. Please R/R!  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
Satine's heart was not the only one Christian had stolen.  
  
There was another, although he hardly knew it. He would see her at rehearsals, on the dance floor and nod politely, thinking her face too young and innocent to be in a place like the Moulin Rouge. But she was not so innocent as she seemed.  
  
Her name was Roxane. A poor girl from Brittany with a prodigious talent for dance, Roxane de Remery left her family behind and moved to Paris at fifteen to study with the prestigious opera ballet. They groomed her to be the next star, so she gave no thought to what her future would be if things didn't work out just as she had planned.  
  
And they didn't. Not exactly.  
  
By her seventeenth birthday, Roxane's skill was catching the eye of the ballet's artistic director and choreographers. She was given the female dancing role in the Bluebird pas de deux in Sleeping Beauty. Roxane knew that if this performance was a triumph, it would vault her into the pantheon of prima ballerinas, and she would be dancing principal roles from now on.  
  
But one evening, after the company had been at rehearsal for hours, Roxane and her partner, Julien, decided to stay late and rehearse their sequences for their principal pas de deux in the following night's opening performance. It had been a long rehearsal, and Roxane knew that her pointe shoes were too soft to dance the full pas de deux, but she hadn't prepared another pair, and decided that she could make it through one last run- through of the dance.  
  
She could feel her toes begin to buckle as she did pique after pique, but instead concentrated on thinking about what would happen after tomorrow night. The roles she would have, the accolades she would receive. And she could finally move out of the cramped, cold room in the women's boarding house into her own apartment. Her shoes became more pliant, but she pushed them to the limit.  
  
All these thoughts flooded through her mind as Julien triumphantly lifted her for the climax of the dance. He set her down into an arabesque, no harder than usual, but her shoes had become so soft, it was as if she wasn't wearing anything at all on her feet. She descended from eight feet in the air onto the foot that had been so praised for its abnormally high arch. There was a pop, and a shooting paint surged through Roxane's foot. It was broken.  
  
Roxane collapsed to the floor, clutching her mangled foot.  
  
"Oh God!" Julien exclaimed, running out the door to find help. Madame Natalya, the choreographer and a former prima ballerina, soon appeared, gauzy black dress trailing after her.  
  
"Eet ees broken," she said in her thick Russian accent, sadness filling her eyes. Within minutes, the doctor had arrived.  
  
"But, I have to dance on it tomorrow!" Roxane exclaimed futilely. Madame Natalya shook her head.  
  
"My dear, you will not dance on it tomorrow night. I have seen breaks like this before. You may not dance on it again," she said gravely.  
  
Roxane could feel her eyes well up. This couldn't be possible. She could sense Madame Natalya's dismay and disappointment. She should not have been dancing on such shoes. But for a girl with such talent, it was impossible not to pity her, for what could have been.  
  
She arrived at the next night's performance with her broken foot tightly bandaged. Backstage, she saw her understudy putting on her Bluebird costume and burst into tears. Madame Natalya took her by the hand and led her to the box where the artistic director, Robert DuPont sat.  
  
"Come," she said, "I haf spoken with M. DuPont. He understands what has happened to you, and will make an exception in your case."  
  
Typically, an injured dancer would be dismissed from the ballet company; they couldn't afford to pay dancers who couldn't dance. But M. DuPont offered her a position as a costume girl, until her foot healed. Then, they would ascertain as to whether or not she could ever dance again and make a decision about her future.  
  
For three months, Roxane worked behind the scenes, helping dancers into their costumes, mending hems and sewing buttons and beads on tutus. Her foot became stronger, and she finally was able to wear a pair of toe shoes.  
  
The day came when she had to audition again for the company. She nervously entered the room where M. DuPont, Madame Natalya, and several other important members of the company would survey her progress.  
  
Roxane started out slowly, hardly going onto her toes. She felt confident. Madame Natalya smiled and nodded slightly. Perhaps she had recovered from her injury. Roxane began to turn fouettés in front of her "judges". She smiled as she counted them off. Five.Six.Seven.Eight. She worked her way to the corner of the room, preparing for a split leap. As she sailed across the room, a feeling of exhilaration returned to her. She extended her right foot-the one she had broken-to show that it was still strong enough to support her.  
  
But it wasn't. As she touched the ground, her foot buckled under her again. Those who were watching let out a gasp as Roxane struggled to her feet. She limped to the table where they sat, a look of anguish on her face.  
  
"Please, let me try it again. I'm just a bit out of practice. I know I can do it well enough!" she protested. M. DuPont assented, pointing his head toward the floor, signaling her to try again.  
  
Roxane assumed the correct position and began another series of split leaps. Her left foot held her up just fine, but again, the right foot buckled, and she tumbled to the floor. She looked up, as if imploring them to give her another chance.  
  
"Thank you, Mademoiselle Roxane. Would you please excuse us for a few minutes," M. DuPont said, his voice betraying trepidation and distress.  
  
Roxane hobbled to the hallway, where she sat, not even bothering to remove her pointe shoes. Madame Natalya emerged a few minutes later, gesturing for her to enter the dance studio. A chair had been placed opposite the table where M. DuPont and the others sat.  
  
"Please, have a seat, Mademoiselle Roxane," M. DuPont said politely. After a pause, he began speaking. "When you came to us, you had the potential to be one of the greatest dancers this country, and certainly this company, has ever seen. We want you to know that we are keenly aware of your exceptional natural talent." He paused. "But an injury such as this one is irreversible. The doctor has told us that it is doubtful your foot will ever return to its former state, or that you will ever be able to dance at the level you were once capable of. I am sorry, Mademoiselle, but there is no way that the company can continue to employ you, if you cannot dance. I do regret this situation, but I am afraid there is nothing more I can do. I wish you the best of luck, and trust that you know that all of us here mourn the brilliant dance career that could have been. Now, you must excuse me. Good day." M. DuPont and the others rose and left the room. Roxane remained in her chair, completely numb. Once they had gone, she put her face in her hands and wept.  
  
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulders. She looked up. It was Madame Natalya.  
  
"There is somewhere that you can still dance," Madame Natalya said, taking the despondent Roxane by the shoulders. "You will have to expect a slight.decline in reputation. But I am confident that they would be interested in you. And, my dear, if you are good at it, you could make more at this job than you every could at the ballet."  
  
"Where?" Roxane implied.  
  
"Harold Zidler is an acquaintance of mine. Do you know him?" Roxane shook her head. "He is the proprietor of the Moulin Rouge."  
  
"A nightclub?" Roxane exclaimed. "But the dancers.they aren't just dancers!"  
  
"No, my dear. They are courtesans. Like I said, you would have to expect your reputation to fall. But what other options do you have Roxane? The company certainly cannot employ you. Would you rather return to your family's farm in Brittany and tend goats for the rest of your life. You were made for something more than that. At least you will still be able to dance."  
  
Roxane weighed her options. Madame Natalya was right. She did not have many to choose from.  
  
"Very well. I will meet this Zidler."  
  
Three days later, Roxane made her way to the village of Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge. She had never even laid eyes on the nightclub or the village. She sidestepped past whores and bohemians made woozy and delirious by too much absinthe to the Rue Pigalle, where the red windmill greeted her. It was daytime, so no one was inside or milling about the exterior. She explained to the doorman who she was, and he led her to Zidler's office.  
  
"Monsieur Zidler?" Roxane said shyly. The large leather chair facing the wall turned around. In it sat the infamous Harold Zidler. He was not, as Roxane had imagined, frightening or menacing looking. He was a portly man with wild red hair and moustache who talked with great flair.  
  
"Mam'selle Roxane!" he exclaimed, jumping from his chair. "Ah yes, Natalya was right. Quite lovely."  
  
Roxane blushed and turned away.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah," Zidler clucked his tongue. "We can't be shy here. When a man tells you how lovely you are, you must encourage him. Make him think he'll get something for all his flattery."  
  
"Madame Natalya told me that I could find employment here, as a dancer," Roxane said shyly.  
  
"As a dancer, yes, yes of course. But surely Madame Natalya also told you that you would not only be dancing," Zidler responded with a slight laugh.  
  
Roxane looked down, nodding.  
  
"We all must make sacrifices for our art," she said resolutely. Zidler understood, and pitied this girl, who was willing to give up so much, only to keep her dream alive. She reminded him of Satine, when she was younger. Innocent but still worldly, and deeply wounded somewhere inside.  
  
"Yes, yes, my dear, sometimes we must," he said. "Well, I think you would make a lovely addition to our little.coterie. Can you begin this Saturday? I'll have Marie find you a costume. What do you say we call you?"  
  
"Call me?" Roxane asked, confused.  
  
"Well, yes, all the girls have names other than their owns. Personas, if you will. There's Arabia and China Doll.Travesty, Babydoll, and of course, Satine. What should we call you?"  
  
"I don't know," Roxane said quietly.  
  
Zidler looked at her pensively.  
  
"Well, you were a ballerina. But we couldn't call you 'Ballerina', too general. What roles did you dance before you.uh.came here?"  
  
Roxane's face lit up at the mention of her past.  
  
"I was in the corps de ballet mostly. Although, I did dance the Bluebird pas de deux in Sleeping Beauty," she told him.  
  
"Bluebird? Excellent!!" Zidler exclaimed. "Marie! Come, come meet our newest girl!" An older woman, whom Roxane supposed was the chaperone for all the girls, entered the room. "Roxane, this is Marie. Marie, this is Roxane, to be known hereafter as Bluebird!" Marie nodded politely to Roxane. She seemed preoccupied however, and soon rushed out of the room when loud coughing emanated from the hallway.  
  
"Excuse me," she said softly.  
  
"Well, she'll be back to help you with a costume. Something blue, I imagine!" Zidler laughed heartily, but Roxane could only smile slightly.  
  
Just then, the door to Zidler's office burst open, and an extremely short man carrying a cane came bursting in.  
  
"Monsieur Zidwer!" the man lisped. "I have here the first dwaft of 'Spectacular, Spectacular!' Would you care to pewuse what we have witten?" Noticing Roxane, the man took off his hat to her. "Oh, hello, mademoiselle. Allow me to intwoduce myself. I am Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec Montfla, at your service! But please call me Toulouse!" He kissed Roxane's hand grandly. "And might I have the pweasure of your name?"  
  
"I'm Roxane," she said shyly.  
  
"Ah, Woxane! Such a wovely name!" But before Toulouse could say anything further, Zidler interrupted.  
  
"Toulouse, this is Roxane. She will be working here from now on. She used to be a dancer in the Opera Ballet," Zidler said diplomatically.  
  
"Oh! Spwendid! You shall have to be involved in our pwoduction! I think you would make a lovely Swiss milkmaid! We are witing a twuwy stupendous pway set in Switzuhwand, upholding the Bohemian ideals of twuth, beauty, fweedom, and of course, the gweatest of all, love!" Toulouse exclaimed.  
  
"Yes, Roxane, Toulouse and his friends are writing a play to be produced here in the Moulin Rouge," Zidler continued. "You see, I am trying to convert the Moulin Rouge into a theatre. But we can talk about all of this later. Roxane, please see Marie about a costume, and we will discuss things further on Saturday night! I will see you then, my dear!"  
  
Roxane thanked Zidler for the job, and said goodbye to Toulouse. Walking home that night, she sensed that that her life had changed. But she had no idea how things were going to change even more. 


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO  
  
"There you are, love," Marie said as she tightened the laces on Roxane's corset. "Let's have a look at you now." Roxane turned to face the woman, who had taken a motherly liking to her.  
  
Roxane looked like a ballerina. A ballerina working in a brothel, which is what she was. She wore a blue corset, which was no less restricting than one of her tutus from the ballet, over an excessively lacy and ruffled blue skirt. Light blue stockings were held up with garters over her ruffled blue panties.  
  
"And of course, your crowning glory," Marie said, as she placed the feathered circlet in Roxane's hair. "There you are, my dear. You look lovely. Now, remember what I told you. Laugh at their jokes, complement their tastes, and always, always give them what they want. But remember, always remember this. Do not fall in love. Men will promise you diamonds and beautiful dresses, but they will anything with their pants down, so don't believe them. We were all in your place at some point. You'll do great," Marie kissed Roxane on the cheek and gave her a shove toward the door. "Now, go get those boys."  
  
But Marie's vote of confidence didn't help Roxane get past her fear. She knew what the job entailed, but she was still terrified.  
  
She took her place next to Nini, who surveyed Roxane's outfit.  
  
"Well, looks as though Harold has got a new girl for us tonight. Doesn't want to thin the ranks when Satine finally leaves, I suppose," Nini said bitterly.  
  
"What's that you say?" Momé Fromage asked.  
  
"Oh, didn't you hear? If that Duke agrees to finance that production Toulouse and the others are putting together, Satine will become a big star, and leave her humble beginnings here behind her," Nini responded acrimoniously. "As if she wasn't a star already. Takes the attention away from all of us anyway. I won't be sad to see that one go."  
  
Roxane pretended like she wasn't listening. She stared glumly at the floor, dreading the evening before her.  
  
"Cheer up, now darling!" Nini told Roxane, not entirely encouragingly. "Think of all the lovely rich men little you will seduce tonight!" But Nini's words were hardly encouraging. Indeed, she did not intend them to be so.  
  
The music began. "All right, there's a girl," Nini said as she pushed Roxane through the door onto the dance floor.  
  
Roxane had never seen anything like it. The dance floor of the Moulin Rouge was a zoo of dancers and patrons, seedy clothing and dapper evening wear. The girls mingled with the wealthy men who'd gone slumming for the occasion. Roxane half-heartedly danced with any drunken man who grabbed ahold of her.  
  
Then the music stopped. Silver confetti rained down from the ceiling. A sultry voice rang out through the room, and all below, Roxane included were awestruck. So this was Satine, Roxane thought as the gorgeous courtesan descended to the floor, teasing the tuxedo-clad men with her charms. She seemed to fixate on a certain young man. Roxane could not see him clearly, but she was intrigued and danced closer to him.  
  
He seemed ill at ease dancing with the seductive Satine. His blue eyes gleamed below a rakish shock of black hair, and in his top hat and tails, he looked like many of the debonair young men she saw in the audience at the Opera Ballet. He made her think of better times.  
  
When the dance had finished, Roxane decided she must find out who this young man was. She walked discreetly off the dance floor and snatched a tray of drinks from the bar. Then, she made her way to the table where she saw the man sit with his friends. She had planned to walk casually past him, hoping he might notice her.  
  
"Woxane! Woxane!" a voice called as she walked by the table. It was Toulouse. Roxane closed her eyes and sighed, turning toward him. "Yes, yes, come and see us! I want you to meet someone!" Roxane smiled, as she set the tray of drinks on the table.  
  
"On the house," she said seductively. The strange-looking Bohemians at the table quickly grabbed the drinks and downed them.  
  
"Oh, spwendifewous!" Toulouse exclaimed. "We couldn't pay for them anyway! Woxane, I would wike you to meet Chwistian."  
  
Roxane met Christian's eyes, and he smiled warmly at her.  
  
"Enchantée, Mademoiselle," he said, kissing her hand.  
  
"Chwistian is the fabuwously tawented witer of our wevowutionewy pway 'Spectacular, Spectacular'! A twue Bohemian genius! Woxane is the newest addition to the Moulin Rouge, Chwistian. I think she would make a wovewy Swiss milkmaid, don't you?"  
  
"Um, yes, I suppose so," Christian said. He seemed preoccupied. Roxane felt her heart sink. "And I'm really not a genius. Toulouse is too kind."  
  
"Well, I look forward to seeing your play. I'm sure it will be…spectacular," Roxane regretted the words once they escaped from her mouth. She wasn't very good at being sultry. "Excuse me, please." Roxane retreated to the crowded dance floor.  
  
"Oh! Oh! Mademoiselle Woxane! Won't you join us at the Hotel Blanche this vewy evening. A wittle cewebwation to kick off our pway!" Toulouse called after her. She said she would. After all, she was renting a room at the Hotel Blanche, as it was just across the street from the Moulin Rouge.  
  
Returning to the dance floor, she nearly ran into Harold Zidler.  
  
"Ah! There you are, my little bluebird! I've been looking for you!" he exclaimed, taking her by the waist and leading her across the floor. "Someone has taken an interest in you. Seems he has a liking for ballerinas."  
  
Roxane assented as he led her to a table inhabited by a handsome tuxedoed man smoking a cigar.  
  
"Count de Rochambeau!" Zidler exclaimed. "Here she is, our little bluebird!" Roxane did her best to smile sweetly. The man kissed her hand.  
  
"Lovely to meet you at last," he said suavely, but Roxane was immediately put off by his oily demeanor.  
  
"I've arranged for the two of you to meet alone in the velvet room upstairs, Count," Zidler said grandiosely. "I promise you won't be disappointed."  
  
"I'm sure I won't," the Count. Zidler could sense the fear mounting in Roxane's mind.  
  
"We'll just let Mademoiselle Roxane go and freshen up, and then she'll meet you there," Zidler said persuasively, leading Roxane backstage. "See Marie. She'll tell you what to do," he whispered. "Good luck!"  
  
Roxane sought out Marie.  
  
"First night here and you've already landed a Count! Sounds like someone else I know. Better be careful, or you'll end up hanging from the ceiling on a trapeze wearing a sequined corset," Marie said with a laugh.  
  
"Marie, you must help me. What do I do?" Roxane asked anxiously. She had had a few liaisons with the stable boy in the hayloft before she left for Paris, but she wasn't exactly adept at seducing Counts.  
  
"Oh! That. Well," Marie shrugged. "Let him lead. Give him encouragement, even if he's…well…unsatisfying. And don't leave until you get at least one hundred francs. You're worth more than that, so don't let the bastard sell you short. Diamonds work too. Just make sure he pays. Now, come on love. You've got a count waiting for you."  
  
Marie led Roxane to the velvet room where the Count had already made himself comfortable.  
  
"My dear Count," Roxane began in her most sultry voice. "I'm terribly sorry if I kept you waiting."  
  
"Oh don't be silly. I would wait centuries for a woman of your beauty. Would you like a drink?" He held a bottle of brandy in his hand. Roxane had never tried it before, but deciding it would make things easier, she quickly took the glass from his hand and downed its entire contents. "Ah yes, you must be quite thirsty from all that dancing."  
  
"Yes. Quite. Well, would you like to get started?" she asked, gesturing toward the lavishly decorated bed.  
  
"Indeed," the Count said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Later that evening, Roxane sat in her small rented room, holding the diamond necklace the Count had bestowed upon her for her services. She was debating whether this was all worth a few jewels when she suddenly noticed that her bedroom window had a perfect view of the elephant in the courtyard of the Moulin Rouge, the infamous room where she had heard so many trysts had occurred.  
  
She gazed through her window to see who Satine's lucky visitor was that night, and was shocked when she realized it was Christian, looking a bit nervous as the lingerie-clad woman attempted to work her wiles on him. She wished she was Satine, so she could get close to Christian. She rested her head and arms on the window sill as she watched them dance throughout the elephant, wishing she could understand what they were saying. She fell asleep, gazing out at the windmill wings of the Moulin Rouge and the sweeping view of Paris.  
  
Hours later, she was awakened by persistent knocking at the door.  
  
"Mademoiselle Woxane!" A familiar voice called. She opened the door to find not only Toulouse, but three of his friends there with him. "Isn't it wondewful! Spectacular Spectacular has an investor! We can finally put on our compwetewy Bohemian pwoduction! Of course, thewe's been a few changes. Not set in Switzewand anymore, but I'm sure you'll make a wovewy hawem girl now! Come, thewe's a cewebwation going on upstaiws!" Toulouse grabbed Roxane by the hand and began leading her down the hall.  
  
"Oh! How wude of me! I forgot to intwoduce you to my fwiends!" Toulouse exclaimed suddenly. "This is Erik Satie, he is a composer. This is the doctor, in charge of special effects, and this is the Argentinean. He is a dancer, much like yourself!"  
  
The Argentinean zealously grabbed Roxane's hand and planted a firm kiss on it.  
  
"Another dancer! I love it! Tell me, do you tango?" he asked.  
  
"No, I've never—" Roxane began.  
  
"Then I will show you! Come!" The Argentinean pulled Roxane by the hand to the party already raging upstairs. Bohemians dizzied by absinthe danced drunkenly with another, laughing and slurring about. The Argentinean led Roxane through a series of steps, and she followed.  
  
"You are a natural! The tango is a dance you must feel here!" he exclaimed, gesturing toward his pelvic region. Roxane knew she blushed. "And now! I show you—" But to Roxane's astonishment, the Argentinean's eyes crossed and he collapsed to the floor, totally asleep.  
  
"Oh ho! Wook at that!" Toulouse exclaimed. "That's what I forgot to tell you about the Argentinean! He has narcowepsy!"  
  
"Narcowepsy?" Roxane repeated.  
  
"Yes! Narcowepsy. Awake one moment and unconscious the next! That is why we call him the Unconscious Argentinean. Just wait a few moments. I'm sure he'll wake up and continue the wesson!" Toulouse laughed as he downed another glass of absinthe.  
  
But Roxane didn't want to continue the lesson. Finding Christian absent from the Bohemians' party, she wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. As she slipped out of the attic back to her room, she could have sworn she saw Christian and Satine dancing atop the elephant. 


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE  
  
  
  
Rehearsals for "Spectacular Spectacular" began the following day.  
  
Roxane dressed in her most respectable clothing, which were hard to find, now that she worked at the Moulin Rouge. But the financier, some Duke she'd only heard about, would be present for the announcement, so she knew she had to look decent.  
  
She sat near the back, along with the other chorus girls. Satine, resplendent in a lovely white suit, sat in the front and occasionally made eyes at the Duke, whose reddish hair flopped in his face. Roxane could only assume that she was sleeping with him in order to secure his funding for the show.  
  
But this was not necessarily so. For after she grinned at the Duke, she would glance somewhat surreptitiously to her right, and give someone over there a half smile and a wink. Roxane craned her neck to see whom Satine was so taken with and was astonished to see Christian shyly smiling back.  
  
"And now!" Zidler exclaimed once he'd finished outlining the plot of 'Spectacular Spectacular,' "We announce the cast!" Polite applause greeted his exuberance.  
  
"The Hindu Courtesan will be played by Mademoiselle Satine," he began. "The Penniless Sitar Player will be played by our friend the Argentinean, and his Magical Sitar will be played by—"  
  
"Yours twuwy!" Toulouse yelled, interrupting Harold.  
  
"Yes, thank you very much, Toulouse. Please sit down. And," Zidler continued, "the role of the colossally evil, unbelievably heartless, stupendously wicked, unabashedly sexual Maharajah will be played…by me!" Zidler almost giggled in excitement. "And the Evil Maharajah's harem girls will be portrayed by none other than Nini, Arabia, China Doll, Mome…and Roxane."  
  
"And to celebrate the beginning of this fabulous play, we shall have a magnificent supper tonight, right here in the Moulin Rouge, for everyone involved!" Zidler announced.  
  
There was more polite applause and a few people turned around to see who the five main harem girls would be. Roxane turned scarlet. She was not accustomed to actually seeing those who were clapping for her. At the Opéra, she only ever saw darkness when she peered out into the audience.  
  
She looked away and noticed Christian looking directly at her. She glanced behind her to make sure Satine wasn't standing there. She wasn't. Roxane smiled shyly back at Christian.  
  
Later, she mustered the courage to finally speak to him again.  
  
"Good evening, Mademoiselle Roxane. I was wondering when we might again have the opportunity to speak to each other," Christian said as she approached him.  
  
"Good evening," she replied.  
  
"Well, I trust you will like the changes that have been made in the show. I know Toulouse had told you you'd be playing a Swiss milkmaid, but we all had a, uh, creative meeting last night and decided to make some changes!" Christian enthused awkwardly.  
  
At that moment, Satine, clad in a splendid silk gown, casually approached the conversing pair.  
  
"Hello Roxane," she said.  
  
"Hello," Roxane returned.  
  
"I see you have found the illustrious writer," Satine observed without a hint of irony or jealousy.  
  
"We were just discussing the show," Christian interluded, a grin creeping to his lips.  
  
"Ah yes," Satine smiled. "Well, Roxane, I know we haven't had the opportunity to talk yet , but I just wanted to say that I hope everyone is treating you well here, and if they aren't, please tell me, and I will speak to Harold about it," Satine said with a kindness that surprised Roxane.  
  
"Yes, I certainly will. Thank you," Roxane stammered.  
  
"Oh, and Christian, there are a few scenes that I would like to discuss with you. Would you mind stopping by later so that we can work on them?" she asked casually.  
  
"Certainly, Mademoiselle Satine. I would be…delighted to," Christian replied, barely hiding his enthusiasm.  
  
"Well," Satine said briskly. "I'll leave you two to your chat. Good evening!" and with that, Satine sauntered over to the Duke and began whispering sweet nothings in his eyes, although her eyes remained fixated on Christian the entire time. Roxane observed all this with some puzzlement  
  
"Zidler tells me that you're quite a dancer," Christian began again suddenly. "Perhaps Satie and I could write a special, uh, dance. Dance of the Harem Girl or something like that. No, no, that sounds bad. Um, let's see…Dance of the…Dance of the…no, no wait, it will come to me…"  
  
Roxane could not disguise her amusement.  
  
"Don't worry, I'm sure it will come to you eventually. You are a very talented writer," she assured him.  
  
"That's what everyone keeps telling me, but I'm not exactly sure. I really haven't written anything like this before, so I don't know how they know that. I think they all are a bit daft in hiring me!" he exclaimed. Roxane laughed.  
  
"Well, we all will find out soon enough, won't we?" Roxane said gamely. "But you had better be good, because I don't think we have anyone to replace you."  
  
Christian smiled and seemed to catch Satine's eye.  
  
"Please excuse me, Mademoiselle Roxane, I must finish some work before tomorrow," he said politely. Roxane nodded and bid him good night.  
  
She walked home in a euphoric state that night, still maintaining the hope that Christian would grow to love her as well, despite his dubious preoccupation with Satine.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The next day, Roxane arrived at rehearsal early, hoping to catch a word with Christian before the others got there. But he was nowhere in sight. She casually asked Nini where he was.  
  
"Where do you think 'e is, sweetheart? He's re'earsing with Satine!" Nini said, laughing wickedly with the other girls, as if they knew something Roxane didn't. Roxane brows furrowed in confusion.  
  
"All right, all right!" Zidler called out, gathering the dancers around him. "We begin with the most sensuous of all our dances, in which the Maharajah's harem girls all display their feminine wiles and attempt to win his affection for the night. Arabia! Nini! China Doll! Places please! Roxane? Where is Roxane?"  
  
"I'm here," she said, emerging from the crowd.  
  
"Roxane, do you have your pointe shoes with you? I have a special dance in mind for you," Zidler said. Roxane could feel all the eyes in the room upon her. She did, in fact, keep a spare pair of shoes in her satchel, if only to remind her of what she used to be.  
  
"Yes, I do," she replied. Zidler told her to put them on.  
  
The entire company watched as the harem girls did their dance, turning seductively around the evil Maharajah, played with gusto by Zidler himself.  
  
Suddenly, Roxane burst through the group of three dancers and executed a series of pique turns toward the Maharajah, dancing just out of his reach. She felt life return to her legs as she leapt around him, performing jeté after jeté, and finally collapsing to the floor in an elaborate bow. The onlookers burst into spontaneous applause. Roxane looked up, startled.  
  
As she left the stage when her number was finished, Christian grabbed her by the arm.  
  
"Roxane," Christian said emphatically, taking her aside. "Your dancing, it's like…it's like poetry! It's…like being in love!" With that, Christian smiled broadly and stole away to one of the hallways, apparently to write down something for the show.  
  
Roxane felt herself blush. She could hardly contain herself with Christian discussing such things around her. She slowly walked to the chairs where her things lay and began removing her pointe shoes, elated that in one day, she was able to dance again like she used to, and that she had heard such things from Christian.  
  
But then she happened to look up. And she saw them. In the upstairs balcony, standing conspicuously behind a beam, were Christian and Satine, locked in a passionate kiss. Roxane looked away in horror. This could not be true. But a second glance confirmed it, and suddenly, Roxane began to feel that Christian's words were terribly empty, or at least, not directed at her.  
  
It was all made painfully clear to her over the course of the next week. While the rest of the cast rehearsed, Roxane would notice that Christian and Satine often disappeared together, and when they did return to rehearsal, they always found a way to meet again later in the evening. Roxane knew that all her hopes had been in vain.  
  
Nevertheless, Roxane loved Christian. She loved everything about him. She loved the way he looked giddy whenever he saw Satine, how his mouth was always on the verge of breaking into a huge grin when he came into her presence. His love for her was uncontainable. And Roxane longed for that. The earnestness in his eyes was something that Roxane had grown unaccustomed to after a few weeks working at the Moulin Rouge.  
  
But the lovers encountered a snag when the Duke, the show's investor, began to feel that Satine's affections toward him were waning. No one would have cared, save for the fact that the Duke held the deeds to the Moulin Rouge as insurance, and threatened to take the club away from Zidler, should his demands not be met.  
  
All this was whispered about on the dance floor among various people in the show. The night before the premiere of 'Spectacular Spectacular,' Satine had agreed to sleep with the Duke, as a sign of her contract binding her to him. Whether she carried through with it determined whether or not the show would go on. The dancers gathered in the main hall of the Moulin Rouge on the very night that the "deal" was to take place.  
  
Roxane slumped down in a chair, her head in her hands. She could only imagine Christian's agony over this situation.  
  
But then, she saw him appear in the Moulin Rouge, walking slowly toward the door. Was he going to try to stop Satine from going through with it, and jeopardize the whole production? Roxane had to convince him to stay away. She stood and started toward him, but the Argentinean reached him first.  
  
"Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself, it always ends BAD!" the Argentinean thundered as Christian crossed the dance floor, clad in a long black coat. Roxane watched as the Argentinean and Nini began a seductive tango. Still, Christian edged closer to the door. Roxane began to run after Christian, hoping to stop him, but she suddenly found herself in the arms of the Argentinean, who threw her into an elaborate set of dance steps.  
  
"Christian! Stop!" she called, but her pleas went unheeded. As Christian disappeared out the door, the Argentinean swept Roxane farther and farther away from him across the dance floor. She felt tears spring down her cheeks as her cries for Christian to stop fell upon deaf ears. Her sobs continued long after the music ended.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The next day, as Zidler had promised, the show went on.  
  
Roxane morosely applied her makeup and put on the harem girl costume that left little to the imagination. She broke in a new pair of pointe shoes and went through a few of her dance steps.  
  
A sense of dread hung heavily in the air as the dancers took their places for the first number. No one knew for sure what had happened the night before, if Christian had successfully interrupted Satine's tryst with the Duke. Not that Roxane wished that floppy-haired boor on any woman, but she couldn't help but think of what would happen to her, as well as to all the other creatures of the underworld who would be out of a job if the Moulin Rouge fell into the Duke's hands. Roxane suspected they would find themselves that much closer to the street. She feared that she would no longer be a dancer who occasionally worked as a whore, but a whore who used to be a dancer.  
  
As the curtain rose, Christian was nowhere in sight. Roxane glanced around anxiously backstage.  
  
"Looking for your boyfriend again, lovey?" Nini asked tauntingly. "Don't worry, you won't be seeing the likes of 'im around 'ere. The Duke's set people at the door to keep 'im out. And someone told me that the Duke was going to kill 'im if he came 'round." With that, Nini walked away, laughing.  
  
Christian had snuck into the theatre, but stayed out of sight until the final scene. Standing in for the Argentinean, Christian threw Satine to the floor, crying out,  
  
"This woman is yours now. I've paid my whore!"  
  
Satine, in tears, begged Christian with her eyes to stop.  
  
Roxane attempted to remain perfectly still, as her role dictated, but couldn't help but notice the Duke's smarmy manservant, Warner, standing in the wings with a gun in his hand.  
  
Christian, in tears of rage, tore off down the center aisle.  
  
Satine didn't know what else to do, and began to sing the lover's secret song. Her breath was halting and thick. Roxane recognized the wheezing gasp. She heard it as consumption claimed her parents years earlier.  
  
"Come back to me, and forgive everything!" Satine sang, summoning all the strength she could. Christian came running back down the aisle and embraced her.  
  
As the curtain closed, Satine and Christian again fell into an embrace, and Roxane couldn't help but shed a tear for their happiness, even though it came at the expense of her own. But a deep, insistent cough suddenly seized Satine, and she fell into a fit of coughing that not even Christian could save her from.  
  
She collapsed to the floor in Christian's arms. The others gathered around the two in disbelief. The secret Satine had hidden so well was coming to light, and Roxane and the others could only look on as Satine took her last gasping breaths.  
  
Roxane no longer fought back the tears, as Christian came to realize that Satine was gone. His cry of grief nearly rivaled the thunderous applause that came from the other side of the curtain. 


	4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR  
  
  
  
It had been nearly a year since Satine's death.  
  
Roxane still lived at the Hotel Blanche, still danced nightly at the Moulin Rouge. Satine's ghost still hung heavily over the nightclub. Hardly a conversation went by where she wasn't mentioned or at least alluded to. Christian seemed to torture himself by keeping the room across from the club, where he still had a view of the elephant. He kept to himself mostly, hardly ever emerging from his room, and never associating with anyone from the Moulin Rouge.  
  
But life had to go on for the others.  
  
Zidler began grooming Roxane to be the new star of the Moulin Rouge, but not without her resistance.  
  
"Darling, you are more like Satine than you know!" he said emphatically. "You have a dream, angel."  
  
"Had. I had a dream, Harold," Roxane corrected him. She was amazed at how much she was starting to sound like Satine when she addressed him.  
  
Zidler shook his head. "I've seen you dancing out there. You still have what it takes to be a ballerina. Once the opera ballet sees what you've become— "  
  
"What I've become? When they see what I become, they'll never want to take me back. I'm a courtesan, Harold. That's a fancy word for 'whore'!"  
  
"No, my dear, you are much more than that. You have that presence that commands attention. I didn't see it at first, but now it's blatantly apparent. You could still be a star. All you need is a little publicity! The opera ballet isn't stupid, my dear. Once they see what they have passed up, they'll take you back. I'll be sorry to see you go, duckling, but I know it's what you want."  
  
The Moulin Rouge was now a functioning theatre, though nothing had been staged there since "Spectacular Spectacular". The Duke had left quietly, but he still retained the deeds. Although he hadn't made a public appearance since Christian and Satine humiliated him at the show's only performance. Zidler had spent the first six months since then worrying that the Duke might return to possess what was technically his. But having not heard from him for that long, Zidler decided his theatre was safe, and set to mounting a new production, this one starring Roxane.  
  
"It will be an all-dancing, all-singing extravaganza!" Zidler said excitedly to Roxane one morning in his office. "Of course, we'll need a writer. Has anyone seen Christian recently?"  
  
"Do you actually think that he would agree to come back here and write again?" Roxane asked incredulously.  
  
Zidler shrugged. "It's been a year," he said. Roxane looked away. "You must understand, Mademoiselle Roxane, Satine was like a daughter to me. I felt her loss as well, and it was just as difficult for me. But you know as I do, life must go on. And in this case, the show must go on."  
  
Zidler stood up. "We've been losing money since Satine's death. No one wants to come to the Moulin Rouge without its sparkling diamond. We need a show that will eclipse 'Spectacular Spectacular' in order to convince people to return to the Moulin Rouge. And we need you to star in it, Roxane."  
  
"Who will we get to write it? We need a story and songs and music. Who will devise all of that? You wouldn't dare ask Christian, would you?" she asked.  
  
"No," Zidler shook his head. "But. You could."  
  
"Me?" Roxane asked, aghast.  
  
"You knew him better than anyone else here. I haven't seen Toulouse or Satie or the Argentinean in months. Who else is left to ask but you?" Zidler asked, rather too convincing.  
  
Roxane sighed heavily and agreed to speak with Christian about the possibility of writing another show. It would be the first time she had seen him in nearly a year.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Roxane returned to her tiny flat late that night after a long evening's work, wanting nothing more than a hot bath and a good sleep. She turned on the hot water and slipped out of her Moulin Rouge costume, which reeked of smoke and alcohol and slipped into the dressing gown that she had bought herself for Christmas. Just as she was about to doff the gown and step into her bath, there came a knock at the door.  
  
It was probably a drunken straggler who'd followed her home from the Moulin Rouge, hoping for a private show.  
  
Roxane contemplated standing very still so that the intruder would think no one was at home. But, deciding that it could be someone important, she sighed and opened the door.  
  
"Christian!" she exclaimed when she saw who was standing there.  
  
"Hello, Roxane," he said morosely. He still looked as grief stricken as the night Satine died in his arms during the premiere 'Spectacular Spectacular'. She smiled sympathetically.  
  
"I was wondering if I would see you again," she told him.  
  
"It's been one year," he began, "since she died."  
  
"Indeed. And we all miss her." Remembering her manners, she said suddenly, "Would you like to come in."  
  
Christian stepped inside Roxane's flat and noticed the bathtub of steaming water.  
  
"I've interrupted your bath, forgive me. I will go," he said quickly.  
  
"No, no, it's quite all right," Roxane said, crossing her arms over the front of her nearly translucent dressing gown. She gestured toward the only chair in her flat. "Please sit down."  
  
Christian obliged. Almost immediately, he began speaking.  
  
"I've been writing. I've done nothing but write for the past two weeks," he showed her his fingertips, red and calloused from pounding the keys of his typewriter. "I wrote our story, Satine's and mine. I was wondering if you might read it."  
  
He stood up and held out a sheaf of paper, which Roxane hadn't noticed that he had been keeping it under his arm.  
  
"Oh, Christian, I couldn't possibly. It's too personal," she began weakly.  
  
Christian furrowed his brows. Roxane could see the tears begin to well up in his blue eyes.  
  
"Please. I would like someone who…someone who cared about Satine to read it. Someone who knew her beyond her persona at the Moulin Rouge. Please," he said, nearly choking on his words as he held the volume out to her in supplication.  
  
"All right," Roxane said. "Thank you, Christian."  
  
Christian stood silently in the center of the room, as if debating whether to stay or go.  
  
"Well then, please let me know what you think. Good night, Roxane," he turned toward the door.  
  
"Good night," Roxane responded. "And Christian," she said, stopping him at the door, "it's good to see you again."  
  
Christian nodded silently, and then quietly left.  
  
Roxane set the book on her bed and took her bath. Later that night, she settled in and began to read.  
  
This story is about love, it began.  
  
Roxane read through Christian's tale of how he came to Paris and became involved with the four Bohemians and the Moulin Rouge. And suddenly, she sensed that the long dormant feelings were re-emerging. As she read Satine and Christian's story, she relived each event of the previous year, and her suspicions were confirmed. She was still in love with him.  
  
Smiling, she drifted off to sleep as her eyes came across the words, the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The next morning, Roxane made her way to the Moulin Rouge. Zidler had sent her a note saying that it was urgent that he speak with her.  
  
"Good morning, Jean-Pierre," she said cheerfully to the aging caretaker, who was repairing a strand of lights above the dance floor.  
  
"Good morning, Mademoiselle Roxane," he said, chuckling. "Getting more and more like Satine each day," he observed to himself. Indeed, Roxane was no longer the timid girl who had come to the Moulin Rouge desperate for a job. The confident young woman striding through the club's main hall seemed to bear only a small resemblance to her former self.  
  
She did not even bother to knock as she opened the door to Zidler's office.  
  
"Ah! Roxane! Just the person we were speaking of!" Zidler said with his usual effervescence.  
  
"We?" Roxane said, puzzled.  
  
"Why yes, myself and— " Zidler began as Roxane noticed who was sitting in the chair opposite Zidler's.  
  
"The Duke," Roxane finished his sentence in almost a whisper.  
  
The Duke de Monroth, his hair falling into his eyes, turned to her with one eyebrow raised. Taking her hand, he kissed it, saying, "Good morning, my dear." Roxane could barely hide her disgust and horror.  
  
"Please, Roxane, do sit down," Zidler instructed her. Roxane took a seat next to the Duke, still unable to believe her eyes.  
  
"The Duke is paying us an unexpected visit," Zidler told her, his jocular tone unable to hide his obvious discomfort.  
  
"Yes, well, I knew I had to check back in on my little…investment," the Duke said in a sinister voice. "After all, I was not, oh how shall I say it, paid for my involvement in your last little show here, and I do believe you owe me something, Zidler."  
  
"Yes of course, dear Duke," Zidler began to intercede, but the Duke stood up and began talking.  
  
"And in light of Mademoiselle Satine's unfortunate demise, I believe other arrangements will have to be made," the Duke eyed Roxane lasciviously, his voice betraying no sadness over Satine's loss. "May I remind you Zidler that I still hold the deeds to the Moulin Rouge, and I don't think you will like what I would do to your dear little theatre if you cannot repay me the sum that you owe."  
  
"What would you do to it?" Roxane demanded, unable to keep her mouth shut.  
  
The Duke stalked over to her, a devious look in his eye.  
  
"I am very glad you asked that, Mademoiselle. Warner!" At that moment, the Duke's bald-headed manservant emerged from a dark corner. Roxane hadn't even seen him there, and her lip curled as he approached, with several large rolls of paper under his arm.  
  
The Duke cleared Zidler's desk and unfurled his plans. Roxane stood up to take a closer look. Where the Moulin Rouge had been, the Duke envisioned something decidedly less savory: a meat processing factory. Roxane nearly laughed when she saw the plan to remove the sign reading "Moulin Rouge" and replace it with one that said "MONROTH SAUSAGES".  
  
"I'm sure you've heard of my family's business," the Duke began. "We specialize in gourmet meats, very popular with the royalty around Europe, you know. We have plants in Provence and Bordeaux, but I would like to expand the business northward. I've inspected my other land holdings, but I think this one suits my business the best. Unless, of course, you can come up with the sum to pay me back what you owe. How long do you think it will take, Zidler? Have you another show coming up that will produce you some kind of revenue?"  
  
"Uh, yes, yes, of course," Zidler stuttered. "This one will be starring Mademoiselle Roxane. Surely, it will be an experience surpassing even that of 'Spectacular Spectacular'!"  
  
"I'm sure it will," the Duke concurred, looking Roxane up and down. "Well, I will leave you to consider my offer. Good day, Mademoiselle Roxane. Zidler. Come, Warner!" the Duke called as he put his hat upon his head, turned on his heel, and left the office.  
  
Roxane waited until the Duke's footsteps could no longer be heard.  
  
"A sausage factory?!" she exclaimed in a combination of amusement and disgusted. "Harold, he can't possibly be serious!"  
  
"He is, my bluebird, he is," Zidler said gravely.  
  
"Well, you can't let it happen. A sausage factory, in the middle of Montmartre!" Roxane said, unable to believe the words herself. "How do we stop him? What happened to all the money we earned from 'Spectacular Spectacular'?" she asked.  
  
Zidler nearly laughed. "Roxane, that wouldn't cover half of what we owe him. Besides, you don't know the expense of running this place. At most, I could pay him five thousand francs."  
  
"Five thousand francs?" Roxane nearly yelled. That was more money than she could imagine making in a year.  
  
"We owe almost ten thousand, Roxane, so don't get upset about that sum," Zidler said sullenly.  
  
Roxane couldn't possibly imagine where all that money went, but she reasoned that it was probably eaten up by Zidler's exorbitant spending habits. "So what can be done?" she asked.  
  
Zidler sighed and sank deeper into his chair. "I'm afraid now, more than ever, we need a show that eclipses the success of 'Spectacular Spectacular' in order to make up the money we owe. We need to draw people back to the Moulin Rouge somehow. Roxane, can you speak to Christian?"  
  
Roxane sighed. She didn't feel comfortable asking a man whose entire world had nearly been destroyed by the Moulin Rouge to suddenly come to its aid.  
  
"Yes," she assented. "I'll speak to him tonight."  
  
With great trepidation, Roxane set off homeward, with the intention of speaking to Christian. If only she could muster the courage. 


	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE  
  
Roxane knocked softly on the door to Christian's garret apartment, his story in her hands. He opened the door and actually smiled when he saw her standing there.  
  
"Roxane," he said, an air of relief in his voice. "Please, come in."  
  
It was the first time Roxane had ever seen his apartment. The walls were covered with individual sheets of paper scrawled with messy writing, obviously the outline for the story he wrote about Satine. Empty wine bottles littered the ground, and the bed was unmade.  
  
"I apologize for the mess. Not much of a housekeeper, as you can see," he said as he hurriedly gathered up bottles and half-eaten sandwiches. When he had finished tidying the space, he gestured for Roxane to sit down. "Have you finished the story?"  
  
"Yes. It's wonderful, Christian, really. You are extremely talented."  
  
"Well, I just wrote what I felt," Christian said, almost sheepishly.  
  
"And that's why it's so good. Because it's honest," Roxane noticed.  
  
"You're being kind," Christian blushed.  
  
"No, I don't have to be. I'm just telling the truth."  
  
There was an awkward pause as Christian and Roxane both searched for things to say.  
  
"So how is everybody. There," Christian said finally. Roxane knew he was speaking of the Moulin Rouge.  
  
"The same, I suppose. I haven't seen the Argentinean or Satie or Toulouse in months," Roxane replied. She knew that this would be the appropriate time to mention the Moulin Rouge's financial troubles and the need for a new show to pay off the Duke. "But the place is not the same. Not without. Well. You know." Roxane wasn't sure if she should even speak Satine's name.  
  
"Yes," Christian said softly. "Oh! Where have my manners gone? Please, sit down," he said, offering her the threadbare chair where Satine had once loved to lounge.  
  
Roxane hesitated but eventually complied. As she nervously searched her mind for ways to continue this conversation with Christian, she remembered her whole purpose in visiting him (well, besides just seeing his face one more time.)  
  
"Zidler is planning to put on another show soon," she said suddenly. Christian nodded, betraying little interest. "Um, I'm to star in it," she continued shyly.  
  
"Really?" Christian asked. "What's the story?"  
  
Roxane bit her lower lip and looked away. She did not possess Zidler's amazing capability to fabricate slightly realistic and true stories out of thin air. She cleared her throat loudly.  
  
"Oh, well, it's…um…about. Well, there's going to be lots of singing…and dancing. Which is where I come in, of course. And it's to be…a story…that is about many…things," Roxane tripped over her words right and left. An amused smile crept to Christian's lips.  
  
"Really? That sounds fascinating, Roxane. I can't wait to see a story about many things," he quipped. At first, Roxane stared at him like a naughty child whose misbehavior had just been discovered, but Christian's grin assured her he wasn't insulting her. Slowly, she smiled and eventually joined in Christian's laughter.  
  
"In truth, nothing has been written," Roxane finally admitted. "I was…I…came here, in part, on Zidler's behalf to ask if you might be interested in writing it."  
  
Christian's expression of amusement fell from his face.  
  
Seeing this, Roxane quickly continued, "Of course, there's no obligation. I'm sure we could find someone else. Toulouse, I've been told, writes some rather, uh, interesting poetry, and if we could just find where he is, I'm certain he could—" but seeing the look on Christian's face slowly devolve from happiness to utter despair, Roxane stopped. She knew that this conversation only resurrected painful memories, memories that were painful only because they had been so wonderful, and the source of that wonder was gone.  
  
"I don't…I don't think I can," Christian said softly.  
  
Roxane sensed that her face reddened as feelings of panic washed over her. Christian was their last hope to write a play. Toulouse had gone missing for weeks, and the Moulin Rouge could not afford to commission any other writers to pen it. Without a show to produce the necessary money, Roxane feared that her garret window would soon be gazing out onto a sausage factory. Spurred on by that realization, Roxane suddenly exclaimed.  
  
"Oh but you have to!"  
  
Christian looked thoroughly confused.  
  
"The truth is, we don't have anyone else to write it! Toulouse has been gone for three weeks, and we can't afford to pay anyone else! You don't know what kind of trouble the Moulin Rouge is in, Christian! The money we owe the Duke—"  
  
Christian's head suddenly turned toward her, the automatic response of hearing the dreaded name. Roxane covered her mouth in remorse.  
  
"The Duke?" Christian asked, disgustedly. "He's gone away."  
  
"He went away. But he's back, and he still holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. If we can't repay what we owe, he's going to turn it into a sausage factory!" Roxane exclaimed desperately.  
  
Christian couldn't even laugh at the absurdity of this statement. Roxane looked at him pleadingly.  
  
"Please, Christian. We need you," she said earnestly.  
  
Christian's resolute face met her gaze. He inhaled sharply and sighed.  
  
"I need to leave," he said, reaching for his hat and overcoat. Roxane watched as he dressed to go outside, then ushered her toward the door, all in silence. She sighed, listening to his heavy footfalls as he descending the stairs.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
  
  
Later that evening, Roxane again sat at her window, watching as the stars began to dot the Paris night. She hadn't had the heart to tell Zidler that Christian had rejected the request to write the play for the Moulin Rouge. She preferred to avoid her doom until the last possible moment.  
  
Her daydreaming was suddenly interrupted by two abrupt knocks on her door. When she opened it, she was astonished to find Christian standing there.  
  
"May I come in?" he asked. He seemed agitated and out of breath. Roxane nodded and gestured toward the room. "I've been walking all over Paris just now. Montmartre, St. Germain, everywhere. Just thinking. And I kept remembering something that she…Satine…said to me before she…died. She told me, 'You have so much to give, Christian.' And I didn't understand, I didn't think that I had anything that I could give to anyone. And I didn't want to, not without her. I just wanted to stop living."  
  
Roxane stared at him, intently and silently.  
  
"But I realized that I can't do that. I can't die with Satine, she wouldn't have wanted that. I can't stop living, I can't lose hope in this world. I have to go on believing in the ideals of truth, beauty, freedom, and…love."  
  
He whispered that final word as if it was some kind of secret he wanted to reveal. Roxane was still speechless.  
  
"And so I'm saying yes, I will write the play for the Moulin Rouge," Christian said, ending the suspense. Roxane's face lit up, and she hardly knew what she was doing as she threw her arms around Christian's neck.  
  
"Oh thank you! Thank you so much!" she exclaimed. Then, realizing her hasty outburst might have shocked him, she suddenly pulled away. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to—" but Roxane couldn't think of any justification for her actions. She had always wanted to do that.  
  
But the look of sadness that had marked Christian's face for a year was gone, and a mischievous smile crept to his lips. He boldly stepped toward Roxane and gathered her up in his arms. She could feel her heart racing.  
  
"There's no need to apologize," he said coyly, as he passionately planted a kiss on her soft lips. Seconds passed as Roxane and Christian kissed, each one of them pouring their longing and passion into the embrace, but to Roxane, it was over far too quickly.  
  
Suddenly, Christian broke away from her, a sweet smile on his face.  
  
"I must go and write!" he announced as he pulled his hat on his head. Roxane couldn't help but looking somewhat dejected. He took her hand gently. "Can I visit you later?" he asked. She nodded, feeling herself blush. Christian grinned wickedly at her, then raced out the door, slamming it behind him.  
  
  
  
Continued… 


	6. Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX  
  
  
  
Roxane stared at herself in the mirror in the dressing room she shared with all of the other girls. Behind her, the dancers were readying themselves for the evening's performance, laughing and teasing one another. It was a mirthful atmosphere, but Roxane couldn't share it.  
  
Her costume ready, she walked down the corridor leading to the main dance floor. Along the way, she passed Satine's dressing room. The door was open, and the star of the Moulin Rouge sat inside, preparing herself for the long night ahead. Noticing Roxane, she beckoned her to come in.  
  
"Oh! Roxane! Please come inside," she bid her. Roxane obliged. Marie was busy lacing up Satine's corset, which was covered in red sequins as Satine attempted to place some ostrich feathers in her elaborate hairdo. Roxane tried to casually take in everything in Satine's dressing room: the birdcage with her tiny bird, pictures of the actress Sarah Bernhardt, postcards of faraway places. Picking up a postcard of Rome, Roxane asked,  
  
"Have you been to Rome?"  
  
"Why yes," Satine replied. "One of my…patrons took me there last summer." Roxane understood that "patron" was a euphemism for "customer." "What about you, Roxane, do you like to travel?"  
  
"I don't know. I've never been anywhere, except Brittany and here," Roxane replied, shyly.  
  
"Well, someday you shall. Someday, I know you'll fly away from here!" Satine exclaimed, exuberantly, but was suddenly racked by a sudden fit of coughing.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A hoarse cough roused Roxane from her dream, and she remembered that she was still living in the Hotel Blanche, next door to a consumptive who kept her up at night with the hacking and wretching that comes as a result of the terrible disease.  
  
Roxane rolled over and looked outside. Morning was creeping over Paris. The lace curtains danced in the breeze from the open windows, and thoughts of the previous night came flooding back to her.  
  
It was only a kiss, but to Roxane, it was the culmination of more than a year of her life. She gathered her Belgian lace shawl around her pale, bony shoulders and sat against the window sill, looking out over the city as the sun began inching over the buildings. She closed her eyes, sensing that it wasn't only a new day—it was a new world. She enjoyed the early morning reverie for a few minutes more until she was disturbed by steady knocking at the door. Thinking it was perhaps Christian, she rushed toward it and threw it open. To her dismay, she was greeted not by Christian, but by a very disheveled looking Nini, who looked as though she hadn't had time to change out of her costume from the night before.  
  
"You're needed," she said in her usual catty manner.  
  
"What for?" Roxane asked incredulously.  
  
"What do you think, little miss ballerina, Zidler asked for you. He and the Duke are going over the terms of the Duke's investment in that little show you're starring in," Nini sneered jealously. "So kindly get yourself dressed and over to Zidler's office right away," and with that, Nini turned on her heel and stalked off down the hall. Roxane rolled her eyes, shut the door, and began changing into something more suitable than a nightdress.  
  
When she was half-dressed, there was another knock on the door. Exasperated, Roxane exclaimed, "What is it now, Nini?" The door opened, and Roxane was surprised to find standing before her not Nini, but Christian, fully dressed in a suit, carrying a single white lily.  
  
"Good morning, Mademoiselle Roxane. Oh, pardon me, I didn't realize you hadn't finished dressing. Please, excuse me," Christian said demurely.  
  
"No, no, don't go!" Roxane exclaimed, perhaps a little too eagerly. Christian raised an eyebrow in surprise, as if to signal his assent. Roxane grabbed the remainder of her dress and scurried behind the dressing screen she had set up in the corner of the room. She was used to being undressed in front of men, but for some reason, Christian made her feel almost ashamed of it, but not in a negative way. With him, she didn't feel like a whore.  
  
"I was wondering," Christian began, a tinge of nervousness in his voice, "If perhaps you were free this morning to take a walk with me, along the river. It's a lovely day, and I would be delighted if I could be joined by the company of such a beautiful woman."  
  
Roxane turned scarlet. She was so used to the uncouth demands of her customers that she had grown unaccustomed to the company of a real gentleman. Quickly, she finished dressing herself so that she could speak to Christian more properly.  
  
"Well, if you don't mind making a stop at the Moulin Rouge along the way, I would love to," she told him. "I have to speak with Zidler." With that, Christian and Roxane set off across the street to the nightclub. As they made their way up the stairs to Zidler's office, Marie, who "chaperoned" the girls, stopped them.  
  
"You best not go in there just now, Christian," she warned. "The Duke's in there talking with Zidler, and I don't imagined he'd be happy to see you. Mam'selle Roxane, you'd better go ahead." Roxane nodded and exhaled deeply. She did not like the idea of bargaining with the Duke, but she smoothed her hair took a deep breath and went into Zidler's office.  
  
"Ah! There you are, my little bluebird!" Zidler exclaimed exuberantly. "You see, dear Duke, I told you she'd arrive on time!"  
  
"Yes, quite," the Duke said shortly.  
  
"And now that our star is here, we can begin to discuss the terms of the show and your most generous investment!" Zidler continued. Roxane nervously took a seat next to the Duke. He turned toward her and gave her a forced, rodent-like smile. She certainly did not possess Satine's stunning beauty and presence, but he supposed she would suffice. "Now, shall we discuss the terms of the contract, my dear Duke?"  
  
"I suppose, Zidler, but let me make it clear that I'll not put up with any more shenanigans from the likes of any of you show-business people!" the Duke blurted out.  
  
"Oh no no, of course not!" Zidler squeaked, eyeing Roxane. "Of course you know, dear Duke, what a success Spectacular, Spectacular was! The entire show sold out, and you couldn't believe the demand for more tickets! What a pity it was there was only one performance," Zidler stopped, a look of sadness crossing his face. The Duke sat with a blank expression. "But, the public is thirsty for another show from the Moulin Rouge, and I think that this time, we have a show that will eclipse Spectacular, Spectacular in its success!"  
  
"Really?" the Duke asked, pondering the amount of money he could make. "And what is this little production called?"  
  
"Uh, well, you see the writers are still working on that, but it's a wonderful story!" Zidler lied through his teeth.  
  
"Is that so? Tell me it," the Duke raised an eyebrow, challenging Zidler's integrity.  
  
"Oh. Well. There's this beautiful, young…" a look of panic flashed across Zidler's face. Roxane could feel her heart beat faster as Zidler searched his expansive imagination for a good storyline.  
  
"Princess!" Roxane blurted out. Zidler's eyes widened, and Roxane felt as though she had made a terrible mistake.  
  
"Yes," Zidler continued softly. "A princess, whose kingdom is being threatened by its evil, warring neighbors, so her father marries her off against her will to the king from a larger kingdom!" Then, he looked triumphantly at Roxane as if asking her to continue the story.  
  
"But she doesn't know that…that…" Roxane stumbled for words and began to feel the Duke's incredulous gaze bearing down upon her. Just then, she looked to her right, behing the Duke and saw Christian standing there, attempting to hide behind one of the curtains. "She doesn't know that the king has a son, a prince, who also is bound by duty, in a marriage to a different princess from another kingdom!"  
  
"Brilliant!" Zidler exclaimed, commending Roxane's ability to think on her feet. The Duke shot him a puzzled look. "I mean, uh yes, isn't it a brilliant plot so far?"  
  
"Perhaps. What happens next?" the Duke prompted. Zidler again looked at Roxane.  
  
"Uh, well, the princess and the prince are both…very sad, being so duty- bound by their kingdoms, but one day, they happen to meet in castle, and they fall madly in love with each other!" Roxane exclaimed, directing her words at Christian, who smiled shyly.  
  
"Always these stories about love!" the Duke spat bitterly. "Well, I suppose if that's what the public wants, it's acceptable, it just seems rather ridiculous, that's all."  
  
"Oh, but my dear Duke, there's more!" Zidler cut in. "Roxane. Continue, please."  
  
Roxane's eyes widened as she scrambled to concoct the rest of the plot.  
  
"Uh, well, the prince and the princess carry on their love affair in secret, until one day, a…a young man in the court, a…a…" she stammered.  
  
"A courtier!" Zidler exclaimed. "A cowardly, ambitious, spiteful young courtier, who has also fallen in love with the princess, discovers them, and reveals the whole affair to the king!"  
  
Zidler noticed as the Duke stifled a yawn.  
  
"And of course, in this kingdom, the punishment for infidelity…is…death," Zidler hissed.  
  
"Ooh, death," the Duke smiled, his rodent-like face turning into a faint grimace. But suddenly, he remembered the events of a year earlier, and the thought of infidelity reminded him of what he felt was his own betrayal. "As it rightly should be the punishment for one who pretends to be in love with someone when she is all the while dallying with someone else who is completely unworthy!"  
  
Roxane quickly glanced at Christian, hoping he wouldn't take this opportunity to let out all of his aggression against the Duke.  
  
"Uh, yes, well, anyway," Zidler continued cheerfully, but then adopted a graver tone as he continued the story. "The King is deeply pained by the news of his bride's unfaithfulness, and that his son was unfaithful to his wife, and with great trepidation, he must sentence them both to death!"  
  
Zidler looked at Roxane, half expecting her to finish the story. She shrugged slightly, as if indicating him to proceed.  
  
"And so, on the eve of their execution," Zidler began, but then paused, appearing to add to the momentousness of the occasion. Really, he just was buying time to devise an ending to the play. "The night before they are both to be publicly executed…they…they fear they will never see each other again, and…and…"  
  
"And then, a young servant boy, played by me, who observed the whole, unjust situation, steals a key from the guardsman, fwees the prince and the pwincess in the middle of the night, and helps them to escape!" It was Toulouse, who had been listening the entire time, bursting through the door. The Duke bristled at the dwarf's presence, but Roxane and Zidler breathed an audible sigh of relief. "And the pwince and pwincess wun away together and spend the west of their lives bwissfuwwy happy! Because, you see, love weally does overcome all obstacles!"  
  
"So you see, my dear Duke," Zidler broke in, sensing the Duke's annoyance with Toulouse, "this play has all the elements people love: war, intrigue, secrets, betrayal, and of course, love! And like Spectacular Spectacular, it will be a musical extravaganza, but this time, told also through the medium of dance, because you see, our little Roxane is quite a ballerina!"  
  
The Duke remained silent, pondering the storyline.  
  
"Well, I suppose if this is what the silly public eats up, I could put my support behind it. I personally think that plays about love are ridiculously unnecessary and entirely unrealistic, but if this is what will make the money, then go ahead with it," he said disdainfully.  
  
"Excellent! Then our rehearsals may proceed! Toulouse, alert Marie that it is all right to commence the rehearsals this evening at seven o'clock!" Zidler said excitedly, devising a reason to get Toulouse out of the room. Toulouse nodded and said his goodbyes. "Roxane, I thank you for joining us, and I will see you this evening for the first rehearsal!"  
  
"Thank you, Harold. And thank you, dear Duke, for your involvement in our show," she said, as charmingly as she could. The Duke took her hand and kissed it.  
  
"Of course, mademoiselle. And good day to you," he said slimily. Roxane couldn't wait to remove her hand from the Duke's and hurriedly walked out of the room, leaving the door open so that Christian could escape as well.  
  
"Well, now that that is out of the way, shall we get down to business?" Zidler suggested.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, then, shall we…ah!" Zidler exclaimed suddenly as he noticed Christian attempting to sneak out of the room, behind the Duke's notice.  
  
"What?" the Duke added, irritated.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah," Zidler stammered, trying to keep the Duke's attention on him as Christian slipped out the door, allowing it to slam behind him. The Duke spun around.  
  
"What was that?" he demanded, sensing that something was amiss.  
  
"Oh nothing, nothing, my dear Duke! Please. Proceed."  
  
"Very well," the Duke said, standing up. He walked about the room as he spoke, as if checking to make sure he and Zidler were alone. "We'll overlook the fact that Mademoiselle Satine's, uh, unfortunate death rendered my last contract with you null and void," the Duke began. His emphasis on the word "unfortunate" suggested that he thought her death was anything but. "And now, I desire a new contract. I want 15% of the returns on this…show. I want to recoup my investment from Spectacular Spectacular, you see, which is why I require such a large amount of the returns. If I do not receive an amount equivalent to 15% of the returns, then the Moulin Rouge will be mine. Do not protest, Zidler, as I still hold the deeds to the Moulin Rouge anyway! However, if my demands are met, the deeds will return to your possession."  
  
Zidler looked gravely at the Duke. "I suppose you have left me with no choice, Duke. I must assent to these demands."  
  
The Duke nodded smugly. He looked out the window to the street below and saw Roxane, smiling and laughing as the held the hand of a well-dressed young man. The Duke's eyes narrowed when he realized who it was. "That damned writer!" he muttered furiously. But then, a sly smile played across his lips.  
  
"And I want to add something else to the contract, Zidler," He said suddenly. "That little dancer you seem to have so much faith in is no Satine, but she is exquisite, and since she will likely be a star after this, I would like to have a contract with her as well, which will allow me to possess her. And I think you understand what I mean by possess. Mademoiselle Roxane will come to me opening night to seal our deal, is that understood? I trust you will inform her of this little addendum to the contract."  
  
"Of course," Zidler said sullenly.  
  
"Splendid," the Duke said, exceedingly proud of himself. "Well, I feel satisfied enough to sign that contract now!"  
  
Zidler, almost mechanically, gave the contract to the Duke to sign. The Duke scrawled his name, and then reached for his hat.  
  
"Well, Zidler, I think that concludes our little…transaction," the Duke sneered.  
  
"Indeed," Zidler rejoined sadly. He had hoped that he could shield Roxane, as much as a courtesan could be, from someone like the Duke. She was nowhere near as worldly as Satine, despite the fact that she had worked at the Moulin Rouge for more than a year. But now, Zidler's fast-dwindling finances made it necessary for her to become the Duke's property. Zidler sunk into his chair, the look of a despondent father who lost his child crossing his face. 


	7. Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN  
  
Roxane arrived at the Moulin Rouge that evening, happier than she had been in years. She and Christian had spent the day seeing the sites of Paris, something she had never done, despite the fact that she had lived there for several years. A broad grin played across her face as she went through the main doors, onto the dance floor, where rehearsals would take place.  
  
"Roxane," Zidler greeted her flatly.  
  
"Harold? What is it?" She asked, sensing his chagrin.  
  
"I need to speak to you. In my office," he explained.  
  
"All right," she said, following him upstairs. He sighed as he slumped own in his big leather chair and motioned for her to take a seat across from it.  
  
"Harold, what's the matter?" Roxane demanded, a tone of concern entering her voice. Harold was never this sad about anything.  
  
"It's the Duke, Roxane," he began. "After you left this morning, he added a clause to his contract. He wants some insurance that his money will be returned to him, so he added a condition, and it involves you."  
  
Roxane could feel her heart drop into her stomach.  
  
"But what does that mean?" she asked.  
  
"It means that…it means, Roxane, that in order to provide insurance that the Duke will recoup his investment, you must sleep with him, on opening night of the production," Zidler revealed. Roxane turned white as the color drained from her face.  
  
"And…and there's no way out of this?" she asked, almost begged, really. Harold shook his head.  
  
"I'm sorry to do this to you, Roxane, to put this responsibility on your shoulders. But the Duke is a powerful man, and also a dangerous one. I'm afraid of what he might do to you, and to the Moulin Rouge if you don't sleep with him," Harold said gravely.  
  
Roxane nodded.  
  
"Well, I suppose I will have to look at him as I do any other customer," she offered. Zidler nodded morosely.  
  
"Yes," he whispered.  
  
Roxane brushed aside the hair that was falling in her face and pinched her cheeks to make them appear more rosy.  
  
"Well," she said, feigning cheerfulness, "It's off to rehearsal now!" She gave Harold a reassuring smile and bounded down to the dance floor, where Satie and the Argentinean, who Zidler had managed to woo back to the Moulin Rouge—and it didn't take much convincing—were working out the music for the opening number. Roxane assumed her place among the other girls and began to learn the Argentinean's choreography.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"No!" Christian exclaimed emphatically once she had broken the news of her "attachment" to the Duke. "I won't let you. I won't let the Duke take the woman I love from me again!"  
  
"Please, Christian, I must do this," Roxane pleaded with him.  
  
Christian began running feverishly around the room, gathering their things together.  
  
"What are you doing?" Roxane asked,  
  
"We're leaving. Now. I won't let it happen again, Roxane. We are leaving now, and getting away from the Moulin Rouge once and for all," he said as he threw some clothes into a suitcase.  
  
Roxane sighed and closed her eyes.  
  
"All right. We'll leave," she said finally.  
  
"Really?" he said, running to her and taking her in his arms and covering her with kisses.  
  
"Opening night."  
  
"Opening night?" Christian said, somewhat disheartened.  
  
"After the performance."  
  
"After?!" Christian's mind raced as it recalled the last fateful days of Satine's life, how they didn't run away when they should have. He knew that death would have caught up with them eventually, but at least they would have been together and far away from the Duke. "No, we must leave before. God knows what the Duke will do to you."  
  
"I'll be fine. I'm supposed to go to him after the performance. We can leave then. In all the confusion, the Duke won't know where I am. And we can leave!"  
  
Roxane wanted nothing more than to pack her bags that instant and run away forever with Christian, but she knew that she must remain practical in this situation. Much more hinged on her than just her future happiness. The future of the Moulin Rouge now depended on her, and she would not shirk this responsibility.  
  
  
  
There was a sudden knock at the door. Christian answered it. Standing there was Madame LeFebvre, the proprietess of the Hôtel Blanche.  
  
"Letter for you, Christian," she said, handing him a small brown envelope.  
  
"For me?" Christian asked incredulously. He never got mail. He didn't know anyone knew where he was. Madame LeFebvre handed him the letter. "It's from London," he said as he tore the envelope open. Roxane watched Christian's face as his eyes ran over the contents of the letter.  
  
"My uncle," he started. "My uncle has written to tell me that…that my father has died." Christian's voice faltered as he searched for a place to sit down. His china blue eyes filled with tears. Roxane rushed to his side, placing an arm gently around his shoulder. She felt his chest shudder as he tried to keep from sobbing.  
  
"You should go to London," she said softly, "And be with your family."  
  
"What?" Christian asked, shocked. "If I'm going, you're coming with me." Christian read on. "It says here that my uncle, my father's brother, is coming to Paris."  
  
Roxane didn't know if this was good or bad.  
  
"Why is he coming here?" Christian asked. "Probably to bring me home. My father thought I was wasting my life here. I know he wouldn't have thought that if he had met you," Christian said, planting a kiss on her forehead.  
  
"When will he arrive?" Roxane asked.  
  
"Friday. Tomorrow. The post must have been slow, this was sent a week ago," Christian noticed. He groaned in anger and despair. "No, he can't! He can't come," Christian exclaimed, his voice like a child. Roxane softly placed her arm around Christian's shoulder. He grabbed onto it, pulling her close.  
  
"It's all right," Roxane said quietly. "Let him come here." Roxane's lips found their way to Christian's a moment later. She could feel him pour all of his confused emotion into this kiss. He pulled her toward him, his hands fumbling with the clasps on her dress. She, in turn, undid the buttons on his shirt as they edged toward the bed. Roxane was used to this progression, the perfunctory doffing of clothing, the ensuing movement, and later, the departure, with money or diamonds left on the nightstand. But this was a completely different situation. She was with someone she actually cared about, and for the first time, she felt happy.  
  
Christian unlaced Roxane's purple corset with a flurry of kisses, revealing her glorious pale back. He traced her spine with his lips, then turned her around to face him. They gazed at each other's nude forms before collapsing together on the bed, Christian exhaling Roxane's name as he entered her. Roxane clasped her legs around Christian's waist, inviting him to go deeper. Christian moaned, a mixture of sublime pleasure and elation, and Roxane was certain Madame Blanche would soon be complaining about the level of noise coming from her room.  
  
When they had finished, they clung to each other, not unlike two scared children. Christian gently stroked Roxane's shiny dark hair.  
  
"It's amazing really," she said softly.  
  
"What is?" Christian asked.  
  
"I do that for a living. But it's different when it's with someone you actually care about," she told him. He grinned and kissed her on the head. But it couldn't allay his anxieties about their future together. Once again, his happiness depended upon the Duke, and that nagged at him.  
  
"What are we going to do, Roxane?" he asked.  
  
"We'll just have to wait and see what happens tomorrow when your uncle arrives here. We don't have the luxury of foresight this time. But whatever happens, you'll still always know that I love you, right?" she replied.  
  
"Yes," Christian responded. "C—come what may, I love you."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Like what you see? Then please go and vote for my story in the MR FanFic Awards at http://www.geocities.com/moulinjewel . I'm up for the "The Show Must Go On Award."  
  
Thanks so much, and I promise I will finish this story soon! 


	8. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT  
  
  
  
Roxane awoke the next morning to the sound of persistent knocking on the door. Looking over at Christian, who was waking up beside her, she wrapped herself in a sheet and walked to the door. She opened it just a crack, and was astonished to see none other than the Duke standing before her, holding a large bouquet of red roses.  
  
"He's trying too hard," Roxane thought to herself.  
  
"Well, good morning Duke," Roxane said sweetly. Christian jolted awake.  
  
"Good morning, Mademoiselle Roxane. I thought I would come by and to wish you good luck for tonight's show and ask you if you'd join me for a breakfast at the Hotel George V," he said, almost half-heartedly, but still feigning interest.  
  
"My dear Duke," Roxane said abruptly, channeling Satine. "You should know that performers never say 'good luck.' They say, 'break a leg!'"  
  
"Yes, well," the Duke stammered. "Terribly sorry, terribly sorry. Now, about my invitation? I've had a splendid repast prepared, and you know you need your strength for tonight's, um, show."  
  
A wave of sadness and remorse came over Roxane, but she did her best to hide it.  
  
"Of course, I will," she said finally. "Now, if you'll just give me a moment to get dressed, we'll leave at once. Excuse me." With that, Roxane hastily shut the door to her room, covering her face with her hand.  
  
"Why is he here?" she whispered. "Well, I have to go with him." Christian sighed.  
  
"I suppose you do," he whispered back.  
  
Roxane dejectedly walked to the closet and picked out a dark purple dress. Then, she went behind her dressing screen and morosely began to dress herself. She had the dress halfway on when another knock at the door.  
  
"Mademoiselle Roxane?" the Duke asked, a small tinge of panic in his voice.  
  
"Yes, Duke?" Roxane called back.  
  
"May I please come in?"  
  
"In just a moment, I'm almost ready."  
  
"Yes, well there are some unsightly characters out here, consumptives and the lot, and they keep coughing on me!" the Duke whined, his voice rising in annoyance. Roxane rolled her eyes and looked at Christian, who stood in the center of the room, holding a blanket around himself.  
  
"Get behind here!" she hissed, gesturing to the dressing screen. Christian hurried across the room and joined Roxane, kneeling down behind the screen.  
  
"All right, you may come in!" she called to the Duke once Christian was sufficiently hidden. The door quickly swung open, and the Duke rushed inside, slamming it behind him.  
  
"There, that's better," he said, smoothing his coat. He looked around at the small apartment and tried to conceal his slight disgust. Plaster was missing from the walls, the bed was unmade, clothes were strewn all over the floor. Fortunately for Roxane, one of her dresses hid Christian's suit from the Duke's view.  
  
"Almost done," Roxane told him, tying her hair up. The Duke smiled faintly. When the Duke ventured over the window to see the view, Roxane hunkered down to address Christian.  
  
"I don't know how long this will take, but I'll be all right. Meet your uncle, and I'll see you tonight at the performance," she whispered, as quietly as she could. Christian nodded sadly.  
  
"Are you talking to someone behind here, my dear?" the Duke asked suddenly.  
  
"Oh no, Duke, just practicing some of my lines for tonight!" Roxane replied cheerfully, rolling her eyes.  
  
"All right." Christian said. He kissed her goodbye, and she broke from him, grabbing her stole and purse.  
  
"Ready?" she said to the Duke.  
  
"Certainly, my dear, you look lovely!" the Duke exclaimed. Roxane led him out of the apartment and shut the door. Christian, still clutching the sheet around him, sprang to hi s feet and ran to the window, watching as the Duke helped Roxane into a carriage, then looked around suspiciously before getting in himself.  
  
Christian stood for a moment, alone in Roxane's apartment, hoping that the evening would go as they had planned. But then, a clock struck eleven times, telling Christian that he only had an hour to get to the Gare du Nord to meet his uncle's train. He hurriedly dressed himself in the rumpled clothes on the floor and ran upstairs to his own apartment, where he changed into his best suit.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Two hours later, Christian sat with his uncle at the Café de la Paix. He had never been there, as it was outside of Montmartre in a neighborhood that was decidedly un-Bohemian. Christian's uncle sipped coffee while Christian waited for him to begin speaking.  
  
"Not bad," his uncle said finally. "This city. Just as beautiful as they say it is." Christian nodded in assent. "You will, of course, be showing me where you live later. I promised your father, before he died, that I'd see to that and make sure you weren't…oh how did he put it? Oh yes, wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer!" His uncle shook his head. "Can't imagine you'd be doing that."  
  
Christian swallowed hard and forced a smile.  
  
"Um, just a question," Christian stammered.  
  
"Yes?" his uncle prompted him.  
  
"How did he die?" Christian hedged around the question. His uncle set his coffee down.  
  
"Ah yes. Thought you'd ask that." He paused. "Well, Christian, you know your father was not a young man. Waited till he was almost 40 before he had you, and before that, he had been working non-stop since he was a boy. I'm sure he told you all about his youth?"  
  
Christian shook his head. "We didn't exactly talk very often."  
  
"Ah. Well, your father and I both started to work when we were about ten years old. Your father worked in a textile mill, loading the machines and what not for several years. Of course, since he had a bit more brains than the rest of the workers, he was allowed to work his way up to foreman, then to management. And one day, the mill owner offered him a partnership in the mill." His uncle took a sip of coffee. "Armstrong was the mill owner's name. That's where the Armstrong in Morgan and Armstrong comes from, if you care. Well, old George Armstrong died suddenly about a year later, and having no wife or children, he left the mill to your father. The mill was so successful, that he bought more and more, which is how he came into his fortune."  
  
"Oh," Christian said quietly.  
  
"Now," his uncle said, finishing his coffee. "To the issue of your inheritance."  
  
"My inheritance?" Christian repeated, shock evident in his voice.  
  
"Yes, my dear nephew. You don't think that your father wouldn't leave his only child without something after he died, do you?" his uncle asked, amazed.  
  
"Well, uh, no," Christian said uncertainly. His uncle looked at him incredulously for a moment and then reached for his briefcase.  
  
"Your father owned a total of twenty mills throughout Britain. In his will, he has left half to his business partner, that's me, and the other ten go to you," his uncle explained.  
  
"To me?!" Christian exclaimed in disbelief. He had no idea how to run a textile factory!  
  
"Yes," his uncle told him. "At any rate, the mills right now are worth roughly fifty thousand pounds. Each. That brings your fortune right now to a total of 500,000 pounds, and that doesn't count all of the revenue each mill produces."  
  
The look on Christian's face told his uncle that he had had no idea how rich his father was.  
  
"Yes, well, it's all in your name. The accounts and everything, but I'm afraid that your father made one condition," his uncle continued.  
  
"What was that?" Christian asked.  
  
"Well, before he died, he said that it's been more than a year that you've been here, writing, or whatever it is you do, and your father thought that it had been long enough," he explained. "So, in order to obtain your full fortune, you must return to London. If you choose not to, you are only entitled to 10,000 pounds."  
  
Christian looked crestfallen.  
  
"Now, we don't expect you to come back to London right away," his uncle quickly added. "You may stay here long enough to settle your affairs and say your goodbyes."  
  
"Ten thousand pounds," Christian said thoughtfully. "How many francs would that be?"  
  
Color rose to his uncle's neck.  
  
"Certainly not enough to sustain you for the rest of your life if you are cut off by your family!" his uncle seethed. Christian looked unfazed.  
  
"Uncle, are you busy this evening?" he asked serenely.  
  
"Why…why, no," his uncle replied, taken aback.  
  
"Good. Then, would you join me for an evening at the theatre. There's something that you need to see," Christian said, a glimmer in his eye.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
Across town in the opulent dining room of the Hotel George V, Roxane breakfasted with the Duke.  
  
"Another brioche, my sweet?" the Duke oozed, offering Roxane a basket of pastries.  
  
"No thank you, dear Duke. Three are quite enough," she demurred, a queasy feeling in her stomach from all the sweet food.  
  
"I'm really quite looking forward to the performance," the Duke said foppishly. "Zidler has promised an event that will bedazzle and bewitch like none other." Roxane nodded, knowing full well that the Duke was only partly referring to the play.  
  
"Indeed, I'm sure it shall," she agreed, pasting on a fake smile.  
  
"Yes, well," the Duke's voice dropped, and Roxane could feel his hand firmly gripping her knee. She tensed up, almost letting out a cry in response. She could feel her heart racing. "It had better. We do have an agreement, and it had better be honored." The Duke abruptly let go of her leg, and Roxane sat back in her chair, her breath hitching.  
  
"Yes, Duke. I-it shall be," she stammered, unable to look him in the eye.  
  
"Good," the Duke leaned back in satisfaction, narrowing his eyes at Roxane. "Good." 


End file.
